


the stories that they tell (of) us

by drcalvin



Category: Elisabeth (Színház)
Genre: Ficlet, Gen, Musical References, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 00:32:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1100360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drcalvin/pseuds/drcalvin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crownprince Rudolf's childhood is lonely, filled with the harsh discipline of a future soldier king. But if you never have time to sit and listen to the stories of soul-dealing demons or the Erlkings cruel court, it can be very hard to know what to make of a friend, whose hair is filled with starlight and whose hand is cold like ice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the stories that they tell (of) us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Carmarthen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carmarthen/gifts).



_I will always remain close._

There is in Rudolf's life not much place for stars, nor the warmth of friendship. What he has, is an abundance of early mornings, cold water, and the discipline of the exercise yard. Rudolf has not grown up with stories. But he has grown up with orders, discipline and cold. 

He will read a great many things, later; poets and tales, edicts and ordinances, lies and truths. He will read of equality and brotherhood, and like the soothsayer in the fairy tale reads the constellations, he will see them shining on the path towards a better future.

But that is later. When he has grown older and learned wisdom – when he too, has begun to grow blind. 

Now, he is a lonely boy and still lacking in the wisdom of the stories. 

There are hardships enough on the training field, but they are simple, daylight things – the weight of his rifle, the blisters from his boots, the endless weight of marching training yelling straining, straining, straining until he falls into a mindless swoon.

It is on that swell of darkness, that he has sometimes sensed the shadow that is gathered around his recent friend. It will be in the depths of the nursery stories, that Rudolf will glean hints about the truth about this friend – but by then, both shadow and cool light alike will have faded. Not forgotten, no, not his cherished memory of starlight. Nor the hints he sees and the instincts within, who whisper of dark stories, and fairy gifts not kind. But from the heights of learned adulthood – from the lonely depths of a princeling boy – they are easy to forget, before the icy stare of his old friend.

Now the clock trembles at the swell of midnight. Another hopeless day about to fall into the starless swoon. Then, silent, as if sliding in between the seconds, arrives his friend. Starlight fills dark hair, heroics fills his song, and the voice that carries through the endless night is sweet like the dreams of a mother's touch.

While time stands still, Rudolf sees his friend of old, who has returned to call upon his favour. Rudolf knows his poets, now; has read his fairy stories. 

And Rudolf goes to Death, his friend, and gives his greeting gladly.


End file.
